


Friday the 13th

by Alistra (ALeaseInWonderland)



Series: It's Bad Luck to Believe in Superstition [1]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25921999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALeaseInWonderland/pseuds/Alistra
Summary: In response to the prompt "Threesomes are so awesome. You even have company on your walk of shame." at the Be Compromised Summer Promptathon 2020
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Series: It's Bad Luck to Believe in Superstition [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881235
Comments: 15
Kudos: 94
Collections: Be Compromised Promptathon





	Friday the 13th

**Author's Note:**

> For kiss_me_cassie's prompt. Hope you like it, dear.
> 
> As always, much gratitude to CloudAtlas without whom we would all be finding commas in unmentionable places.

As usual, Kate is right.

Clint accepts her assessment that his love life is a disaster even on a good day, and he doesn't even disagree that it's practically begging for trouble to go out on Friday the 13th. 

On the other hand, Friday the 13th is still a Friday and it has been a while since they've been out together. Because yes, Kate tagged along, to "selflessly protect him from himself" as she put it, but really just because it's fun and he owes her at least four drinks. It's around drink number three when she helpfully points out that the smoking hot redhead Clint keeps glancing at already has company of the tall, dark and handsome variety.

"Don't even think about it, Barton. Even from all the way over here I can see that guy could break you like a toothpick," Kate grins, adjusting her purple shades - _Clint's_ purple shades - on top of her head. He can tell she's already found entertainment of her own though, watching a tanned beauty pulling off some moves so fast, she almost appears to be levitating over the dance floor. Clint decides to thank Kate for her advice by giving her shoulder a friendly shove that trips her up and sends her sailing right into the dancer's star spangled arms. 

He's grinning unrepentantly the entire way to the bar. 

With nobody around to call him out when he's making questionable choices, he is free to squeeze in right between gorgeous Red and Biceps McScruff. 

Both of them earn themselves varying degrees of an apologetically mimed " _Busy place, what can you do_?" sprinkled with a batting of blonde lashes that, in the past, has saved him from trouble as often as gotten him into more. From what he can tell they... Well. To be honest, at this point he can't be sure what the hell they are thinking, but it appears they aren't hating it. He orders a beer and, instead of going away, just keeps standing there.

Biceps seems... amused, mostly. Not about to bash his face in for interrupting, which Clint considers a good omen. Clint is sure that if he gives any of them time to think, they will realize he's no competition for the guy so, pushing his luck, he takes Red's hand, while giving his freshly bought beer to Biceps. 

"Here," he offers, along with his most charming smile, "have this one on me. I don't want you to get bored while you're standing here all alone."

Biceps laughs out loud, but his surprise is nothing in comparison to Clint's own when he turns back around to gorgeous Red, who has become _breathtaking_ Red as a grin lights up her face. She tosses back her drink and, laughing something that sounds like _chutzpah,_ leads Clint to the dance floor.

That, in itself, would have made Clint's night.

Only it doesn't end there.

Red's name is Natasha. She's an amazing dancer, whip-smart and has a wicked sense of humour that, matched against Clint's own, quickly escalates to a competition of increasingly silly double entendres. And as if that isn't enough to completely blow his mind, when they eventually sit down on a couch in the corner to catch their breath, Biceps reappears. Instead of looking for trouble, he passes Clint a new beer and, with a grin that is so much hotter than should be allowed, plonks himself down between them, thigh to thigh, on the too-narrow bench seat.

"I'm Bucky," he introduces himself, close to Clint's ear to beat the noise. "I like your guts."

When he sits back, eyes sparkling with amused mischief, Clint, because he is a certified idiot and hopelessly out of his depth, replies, "I'm Clint; I like your face."

Beside them, Natasha laughs so hard she spills her drink.

*

It's late and Clint hasn't seen Kate in hours, not since he’d spied her deep in conversation with the Star Spangled Dancer at the very back of the bar. Now that Clint is about to text her about going home, he finds she's already gone and left him a message.

"Aw no. Looks like my roommate needs the place to herself tonight," he explains to matching questioning expressions.

"Shit," Bucky commiserates eloquently, turning up the collar of his jacket against the chill of the night. Clint is reminded by a sudden attack of goosebumps that he's forgotten to bring his own.

Natasha is huddling against Bucky's side for warmth, and the way he puts his arm around her looks so natural and _right_ , Clint's joke about preemptively inviting himself up to her place for coffee dies on his tongue. He's scratching at the back of his neck self-consciously when he catches Natasha's eye. 

Most likely she's trying to let him down easy, but there's something in her smirk that makes his insides somersault. 

"I would ask you over for coffee," she says, as if reading his mind, "but I'm positive I don't even have any. On the other hand..." She makes sure Clint sees her slide her fingers into Bucky's back pocket to emphasize her terrible joke. "How do you boys feel about a _sandwich_?"

*

Clint isn't sure whether there are special rules for casual hookups with more than two participants. The only other time he's been in a similar situation, he ended up at the apartment the two women shared, so there was no question about who left when.

After this night though, he's found his clothes in the semi-darkness of early morning and, as he tries to get dressed in the living room as quickly and quietly as possible, nearly jumps out of his skin when a gravelly voice says, "That's my shirt."

Clint makes a noise he will deny until his dying day and takes a closer look at himself. His shirt is not only inside out, but also not the purple one he arrived in. Instead it’s a dark red colour definitely alien to his wardrobe.

Somehow it's supremely awkward to undress in the cold light of the morning and something in the way he does it must have shown, because when he passes the shirt with faux nonchalance, Bucky is smirking.

Only a short nap ago they'd both been far more naked and far less awkward around each other, but _knowing_ how ridiculous it is to get flustered now doesn't actually stop Clint from blushing.

Bucky snorts and pats his cheek in a way that implies mockery, but lingers just a little bit too long and feels really nice against his still slightly sore jaw, and yeah, that's not helping with the awkward at all. Not with Bucky's eyes widening like that, clearing his throat and taking a long amount of time to put his tee on the right way around.

Really, the polite thing in a one-night-stand is for one party to pretend to be asleep so the other can steal out and avoid precisely this moment of what-the-fuckery. But, as Kate will be delighted to elaborate on in great detail, Clint's an idiot.

He won't regret last night, couldn't if he tried, but this right here is excruciating. More so because all he wants to do is grab Bucky by his stupidly soft hair and drag him back to bed. They could find creative ways to wake up Natasha and just... stick around for a bit. A year maybe. Or ten.

He can hear imaginary Kate calling him a sap even before the thought is fully formed. Aw no, now he remembers why he's so bad at no strings sex. He's forgotten how much he _likes_ the strings. 

They do get dressed in their own clothes eventually and, after making sure all personal belongings are accounted for, they let themselves out. Clint is way too focused on wondering whether he should feel bad about the way he's watching Bucky's ass to mind his feet, so when something fast and black swishes past him, he stumbles and ends up falling right into the guy's back. His attempt to brace himself on something else turns out to be the door which slams shut loud enough to wake the entire floor.

Bucky straightens him with impressive ease. Clint's not a small guy, okay? But Bucky, he's _built,_ and the casual manhandling is something Clint wasn’t aware he was into and maybe he needs to get that under control. When he's not this close to the guy who's grinning at him like he totally has his number.

"Did you just let a random cat into Natasha's apartment?"

Futz.

Unless they want to knock and call Natasha, which is unlikely to improve the whole awkward morning-after situation, there really isn't anything to be done about the cat. Clint's pretty much convinced it _was_ a cat, and anyway the involuntary slamming of the door would have woken the soundest sleeper, so it's fair to assume she knows by now.

Clint's beginning to feel an unprecedented longing for his own bed; a paralysing tiredness creeping deep into his bones. He wants to rest and maybe relive some recent memories, and wonder whether he'll see either one of his new acquaintances again. Right now he can't though, because Bucky is still _right there_ , next to him waiting for the train. Neither of them has asked where the other lives, because that kinda violates the unspoken casual hook-up rule, but so far they've walked from Natasha’s building to the subway together and now are waiting for the same train. Bucky _did_ stand, absorbed in his phone, while Clint stopped to - finally! - get the largest black coffee the café at the corner would sell him, but that could have been coincidence.

They do also sit next to each other on the train, admittedly with enough space between them to allow either of them their manly sprawl. Only their knees touch whenever the car jostles them just right.

Fifteen minutes later, Clint's stop comes up and he's panicking about how to make his goodbyes when Bucky also stands. Maybe he's imagining things, but the half-smile on Bucky’s face almost makes it look as though Clint's not the only one glad to be postponing the inevitable for another few minutes.

"Clint."

He turns at his name, halfway down the steps to his connecting train. At the top of the stairs, Bucky has stopped, one hand in his pocket and the other turning an awkward little wave into pointing his thumb at the exit sign behind him.

A terrible moment of indecision hangs suspended in the air between them before Clint slowly ascends again. Going for a manly hand-clasp backslap isn't just weird, it’s impractical; he has both hands full, with his coffee in one and his phone in the other. So they are just standing too close, blocking the middle of the stairs, other passengers stepping around them. It occurs to him that maybe he should say something, ask for Bucky's number, or put into words how much he enjoyed last night and the nearly silent morning after. 

He doesn't though; there's always a chance he's read too much into all of this and he isn't really prepared for hearing how little it meant to Bucky. He's a romantic at heart, so sue him.

But Bucky doesn't say anything either, just looks at him with his brows drawn together and those eyes that are really too pretty to be allowed. If anything, his expression looks a little murderous, but maybe that's just his figuring-things-out face and Clint's thoughts are getting rambly again and that's not a good sign.

"Ah, fuck it," Bucky says, almost to himself.

Then he takes Clint's face in both hands and kisses his breath away.


End file.
